


Hello, Friend (The Best Two Words to Begin)

by desert_neon (sproutgirl)



Series: A Modern American Family Unit [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Library, American Sign Language, Dad Clint Barton, Dad Phil Coulson, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, First Meetings, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Non-SHIELD Phil Coulson, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Secret Identity, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sproutgirl/pseuds/desert_neon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is an ordinary man with an ordinary job. He is a single parent with two daughters, Daisy, 17, and Maggie, 5. Every Saturday, Phil takes Maggie to story time at the local branch of the New York Public Library. When Clint Barton starts volunteering as an ASL interpreter for the program (and brings his son along with him), Maggie becomes fascinated with the language and Phil becomes fascinated with the man.</p><p>For fangirlasplosian (fangirlSevera), whose number one prompt was, “Single dads AU meeting while taking their kids to the library.” Thank you. Not only did I finally have a reason to attempt kidfic, but your prompt lit up my brain with this story, and any sequels that may follow. I hope this meets your expectations! Happy Holidays!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Friend (The Best Two Words to Begin)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fangirlSevera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlSevera/gifts).



> This story is set in some weird AU world in which only Tony and Steve, and possibly Thor, are recognizable as Avengers. Everyone else has been able to keep their identities and visages secret. I don’t explain how that’s possible, so feel free to imagine masks, magic, or SHIELD’s incredible competence in locking that sort of thing down. Whatever floats your boat.
> 
> In this fic, I have included a lot of ASL details. I am in no way an expert on American Sign Language or Deaf Culture. I have picked up tidbits here and there in my life, and have done my very best to research the rest. However, Google can only take you so far, so if anybody sees anything off, offensive, or just plain incorrect, _please_ let me know. I want this to be a positive piece, and will change anything that needs changing. (I also know nothing about the New York Public Library, its branches, or its story times, but I figure that’s not so delicate a subject. Just roll with it, okay? Okay.)
> 
> A few words about the way in which I’ve chosen to write ASL in this fic. ASL is not at all the same as the spoken word. Syntax and grammar are not the same as the hearing culture knows it, and would look very odd written as a literal translation. So when someone signs in this story, the dialogue that appears is how they would say it were they speaking. A few instances have the sentences shortened in deference to the differences in languages.
> 
> Also, please be aware that almost every time Phil and Maggie are speaking to each other, they are also practicing sign language as best they can. Any time Charlie is around for a conversation, everyone who can sign is signing, unless otherwise stated. I ran out of ways to say, “ . . . he said, signing as he spoke . . .” and it makes for very cumbersome paragraphs. I know this is slightly lazy writing, but I was in a time crunch and wanted this fic to remain fun for me too, and I beg your forgiveness.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, Jo (jmathieson) and raiining, who both leapt in to read an 18K fic at the very last minute. Any mistakes are, of course, on me. And many happy blessings to the CCHE mods, who work so hard to keep this running smoothly. You are all awesome, and have made a difference in my holiday season this year. Thank you.

There was a new guy at story time. He was maybe ten years younger than Phil, but it was hard to tell because his face had that ruggedly handsome look that spoke to a life roughly lived. He was about Phil’s height, with dark blond hair and arms that made Phil’s mouth water. He showed up halfway through the reading, emerging from the children’s stacks and leaning against the side of one bookshelf, fantastic arms crossed and watching the reader, the kids, and the surrounding adults intently.

He didn’t seem to be attached to any single kid, and that gave Phil pause. Why was a grown man so interested in story hour? But while his posture and watchfulness indicated strength and awareness, Phil didn’t get any sort of creeper vibe off him. Still, it paid to be cautious, and Phil’s eyes instinctively sought Maggie out one more time.

She was fine, enraptured as always, one of the littlest bodies in the crowd, insistent that the preschool through kindergarten group read baby books too often and worming her way into the first through third grade session despite being only five.

When Phil looked back, Hot Guy was studying _him_. Phil, caught off guard, shifted, and the guy’s eyes traveled up from Phil’s chest to his face. Phil quirked an eyebrow, amused and curious, but instead of looking guilty, Hot Guy smirked. It was an expression full of confidence, and Phil guessed that he’d been caught ogling earlier, even though he was usually very good at being subtle. If he’d had a super power, Not Being Noticed would have been it.

But Hot Guy was definitely noticing him, and Phil had to be thankful he’d long ago trained himself out of blushing. It allowed him to hold the man’s gaze and not give away any of the thoughts he was having about those arms, that mouth. He still didn’t know, of course, why the guy was there, but that could always be asked once a conversation was started. Once Phil actually got himself across the room for proper introductions.

Before Phil could actually get himself moving, however, Hot Guy’s attention was diverted by a young black boy coming out of the stacks. He looked to be about seven or eight, with an adorably freckled face and wide grin, and he gestured at the man by hefting the pile of books in his arms. The guy nodded and ushered the boy to walk in front of him, then looked back at Phil with a different kind of smile and small shrug. Phil gave an understanding grin and nod in return, and allowed himself only a moment to watch them go.

 

_________

 

Phil had wondered, idly, if he’d see Hot Guy at the next week’s story time, but he’d reconciled himself to the fact that it would be unlikely. He hadn’t seen the man there before, and his kid hadn’t actually been attending the reading, so the timing had probably been a coincidence, nothing more. Between the busy life he led and the low probability of seeing the man again, Phil had put the matter well out of mind.

It was a bit of a surprise then, when Maggie cried, “Daddy, look,” completely forgetting to use her indoor voice and pointing at Hot Guy and Adorable Kid.

“Library voice, baby,” Phil reminded her, gently pulling her arm down, “and don’t point at people.”

“But they’re using their hands like Linda and Bob!”

“They are. It’s called sign language, remember?” Phil knelt down to unbundle her from hat, scarf, coat, and mittens, and she dutifully held still until the last stitch of cold weather gear was removed. Then she was off, too fast for Phil to catch, running straight for the pair, her hands making uncoordinated movements even before she reached them. Phil was pretty sure he knew what some of the gestures were supposed to mean, but he was also certain no one else would ever be able to guess what she was trying to say.

By the time he caught up to her, she was stubbornly signing the same thing, over and over, confusing the boy while Hot Guy looked on with amusement. Finally Hot Guy seemed to catch on, at least a little, because he signed something Phil thought might have been “Merry Christmas” in return.

“Sorry,” Phil said when Hot Guy looked directly at him. “She’s obsessed with _Christmas Eve on Sesame Street_.” He honestly didn’t know if the man could hear him, or if he could read lips at all, but he spoke slowly and clearly, just in case, and was rewarded with a blinding smile.

“They sign in that?”

Phil nodded, grinning back. “There’s a whole song in sign. It’s from the earlier generation of _Sesame Street_ , when Linda was on the show. What Maggie was trying to say was, ‘Keep Christmas with you.’ It’s the title of the song.”

“Huh. Wish I’d known that. Charlie’s a little old for _Sesame Street_ now.” His hands flew as he spoke, and Charlie watched avidly, then made a comment of his own, his expression making his thoughts clear, even if his hands hadn’t been moving. “Yeah, buddy, I know, but younger kids like it,” Hot Guy replied with a respectful nod towards Maggie.

Charlie looked at Maggie, considering, then shrugged. He signed something else, and Hot Guy nodded, signing in return. Charlie made a fist and knocked the air with it twice, then turned away and wandered into the stacks, Maggie trailing after him.

Phil let her go, the aisle they were exploring well within his sightline. “Please let me know if she bothers him,” he said, careful to look directly at the man once more.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. He could use a lesson in patience sometimes.”

“Still,” Phil insisted, then offered his hand. “Phil Coulson.”

“Clint Barton.” His handshake was firm, the grip strong and fingers pleasantly rough with calluses. “And before you try to figure out how to ask, I am partially deaf, but with excellent hearing aids. Like, top of the line, not available on the general market excellent. As long as I’m wearing them, I can hear you just fine.”

“Okay,” Phil said with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Charlie, on the other hand, is completely deaf. No help to be had from hearing aids, not even cochlear, which means lip reading isn’t really viable either. If Maggie wants to talk to him, she’ll need an interpreter.”

“Understood.” Phil paused, then, against his better judgment, asked, “So if they aren’t available to the general public, how’d you get your hearing aids?”

Clint grinned, sharp and amused. “I know a guy.”

Phil laughed a little. “Fair enough.”

“Mr. Barton?” a new voice asked, and Phil turned to see Miss Misty, the storyteller, approaching. “Are you ready?”

“On my way.”

Phil hid his curiosity as Miss Misty nodded and headed up to the front, and Clint turned towards the aisle the kids were in. Charlie seemed to be determinedly ignoring Maggie, who just as determinedly stayed by his side, watching his every move with stars in her eyes. Clint stomped his foot twice, and Charlie looked over immediately, nodding as Clint signed and heading back to the main story time area, Maggie doggedly on his heels.

“Well, Phil, looks like I’m up. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Clint was already moving away, heading towards Miss Misty’s rocking chair, and Phil settled in with the rest of the parents and caretakers at the edge of the circle.

“Welcome, everyone,” Miss Misty chirped. “As promised, we’re going to delve into the stories of Frog and Toad today, but first I want to introduce you all to Mr. Barton.” Clint lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers, a sheepish smile on his face. “Mr. Barton is here as a sign language interpreter, and will be joining us every week as we try to build a better program for our hard of hearing patrons.”

A round of applause broke out, and Phil joined in, grinning.

“Actually,” Clint said, raising his open hands and quickly moving his wrists back and forth, “this is how you sign applause. And it’s probably appropriate for a library too.” There were a few chuckles from the adults, and when Miss Misty copied Clint, the kids all followed suit. “Thank you,” Clint continued, signing as he spoke. “I used to do this at the Brooklyn branch, but my son and I recently moved to Manhattan and that is a commute I just don’t want to deal with. So, uh, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Miss Misty agreed with a smile, then opened her book. Clint lifted his hands, Miss Misty began to read, and Phil was mesmerized. When he could tear his eyes away from Clint, Phil noticed that Maggie, sitting right next to Charlie, was equally captivated.

 _Every week_ , Phil thought. That would be good. Maggie would like that.

 

_________

 

“Maggie, come on, baby, we’re going to be late!”

“Dude, chill.” Daisy kicked her feet up onto the coffee table, a battle Phil had long ago resigned himself to losing. “You usually don’t leave for like another ten minutes.”

Phil narrowed his eyes at his older daughter, grateful when she scooped up the remote control for the Roku, giving him a change of topic. “Is your history paper done yet?”

“Research,” she argued, waggling the remote in his general direction. “There’s a documentary about the Trail of Tears that’s supposed to be super accurate. Ugh.” The Netflix homepage had popped up, with the Continue Watching list covered in _Sesame Street_ episodes and specials as well as _Signing Time_. “What’s with all the kiddy shows suddenly? You never let her watch this much TV.”

“It’s educational.”

“So is _Caillou_ , and you banned that one really damn fast.”

“Don’t swear when your sister’s home. And the only thing _Caillou_ taught Maggie was how to make that horrible sound when things didn’t go her way.”

“Daddy! I can’t find my boots!”

“Did you check your closet?” Phil hollered back.

“Yes . . . Oh, wait . . . Found them!”

“Good girl.”

Daisy opened the search box on the TV and ignored the loud, parenthetical conversation. “More importantly, these shows teach sign language. And you think the new signing guy is super hot.”

“ _More importantly_ ,” Phil stressed, “I am encouraging a new and interesting learning experience for Maggie, which will foster a love of languages and open whole new opportunities for her as an adult.”

“Mm-hm. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Why on earth are you my daughter again?”

“Because you fed me once and then I wouldn’t go away.”

“Sounds about right.” He bent over the back of the couch to kiss her head, knowing she was rolling her eyes at him in response. “Come on, Mags! Time to go!”

“And you in no way want to get there early to talk to Super Hot Signing Guy. Right.”

“You hush,” Phil commanded, just as Maggie skipped into the room. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” She handed him her coat and he helped her into it, zipping and buttoning with care. “Do you _promise_ Charlie’s gonna be there?”

“Oh, honey, you know I can’t promise that. I’m not in charge of where Charlie goes. But his dad’s going to be there, right? So chances are good that Charlie will be too.”

Maggie nodded and held her hands out for mittens. “I’m gonna say ‘hello’ and ‘friend’ and my name.”

Phil got the left mitten situated, but held off on the right. “Can you show me? Show me your name again, baby.”

Carefully, slowly, Maggie began to fingerspell her name. The _m_ and the _a_ she managed fine, though she accidentally used two fingers for the first _g_ , making it an _h_. Phil gently corrected her and she fixed it herself on the second _g_ , and then held up her pinky finger for an _i_. But then she stopped, and looked at Phil imploringly.

“ _E_ , sweetheart. Do you remember the _e_?” Hesitantly, she made a fist, and he beamed at her. “Very good! Now just open your hand a little, okay? Keep your fingers tucked in, but let me see your palm.”

He had to help her a little, but the smile she gave him when she got it right was breathtaking. He knew it was more memorization than learning the whole alphabet and actually spelling her name, but he did not care. She’d worked very hard to learn those signs over the week, and he couldn’t have been more proud. He gave her a kiss and maneuvered the second mitten on.

“Your name now, Daddy!”

“D-a-d-d-y,” he spelled, both out loud and with his fingers, and she laughed and clapped for him.

“Is that what you want Hot Signing Guy to call you?” Daisy asked, chin resting on the back of the couch, a smirk playing around her lips.

“I am ignoring that,” Phil replied, because while they had a fun sort of father-daughter relationship, that pushed the limits. He suspected she knew it, too, and was probably regretting having said it, though she’d never let him know that. “I am ignoring that comment because I am your father and you are supposed to be grossed out at the very thought of me and anybody in that way. Also, you are seventeen, where do you even get that sort of thing?”

“From the freshmen,” she quipped, rolling her eyes at him again. “Old man.”

“Documentary,” he instructed, “then homework. No movies.”

Daisy saluted him with the Roku remote, and Phil grabbed Maggie’s scarf and hat on their way out the door.

When they got to the library, Maggie barely allowed Phil to unwrap her from all her winter gear. He suspected the only reason she held still was so that he would take off her mittens, freeing her hands. As soon as she was able, she took off, zeroing in on Charlie instead of claiming a spot on the floor like she usually did.

Phil, better prepared this time, kept up, sending a grin to Clint as they approached. “Hi.” He looked to Charlie then and offered a properly signed hello.

Charlie greeted him in return, but was distracted by Maggie frantically saluting her own hellos. Looking a bit bemused, Charlie hello-ed her back, which prompted her to switch to the sign for friends. She hooked her index fingers together, but instead of flipping them once, she repeated the gesture over and over. Charlie looked up at his dad, clearly unsure what to do with the crazy little girl in front of him.

“I think she wants to be friends, bud,” Clint said, signing at the same time.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, and Phil reminded her to use her library voice. “Yes please. Friends. I’m Maggie.” She pointed to herself, then started her clumsy, but careful, fingerspelling.

Phil knelt to fix her _g_ , and watched fondly as she finished her name, very precisely curling her fingers in for the _e_. Too late, Phil realized he probably looked like an idiot, the very embodiment of a Proud Papa, and he snuck a glance up at Clint, expecting to see a smirk.

Instead, Clint was looking down at them with something like wonder on his face. Phil stood hastily, but before he could say anything, Charlie regained his dad’s attention by stomping his foot twice.

Clint immediately shifted his expression and nodded at Charlie. “He says his name is Charlie,” he told Maggie, spelling the name with his fingers, before looking back at Charlie. “I don’t think she knows how to spell yet, kiddo. I bet she worked really hard to learn to sign her name.”

“I did! I learned my name and ‘friend’ and ‘hello,’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’” she said, signing those few words accordingly, “‘cause Daddy says manners are ‘portant.”

“Your dad is right,” Clint said with a smile, which he then transferred to Phil, who forgot how to breathe for a second. “But you know, it’s hard to fingerspell everyone’s name all the time. So we make up signs with the first letter of their name and something special about them. Charlie is my son, so I call him—” He made a sign with the letter _c_ and held it against his temple, then brought it down like a salute, until it hit the crook of his opposite elbow. “But other people call him—” He made a _c_ with each hand, and pantomimed steering a wheel. “Charlie loves cars, and that’s the sign for ‘car’ or ‘drive,’ but with _c_ ’s for Charlie.”

Maggie nodded and copied the second name, her little tongue poking out between her teeth. Her hands were more _o_ ’s than _c_ ’s, however, and Charlie stepped forward to correct her, his hands gentle on hers. She beamed and he nodded, indicating himself with one hand and then making the sign for his name.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Sign it, baby,” Phil reminded her.

“Oh.” Her face fell a little, and Phil put his fingers to his own chin as a clue. She brightened and copied him, finishing the sign on her own.

Charlie nodded and signed something to Clint, who grinned. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said. “But let’s ask her.”

Turning back to Maggie, Charlie held one hand out, palm up, then shaped his other hand into an _m_ and ran it over his palm. He then brought the _m_ to his forehead, over his eye.

“He wants to know if that can be your name. _M_ for Maggie, combined with the sign for ‘learn.’”

Maggie looked up at Phil, her eyes wide with joy, and he smiled down at her. “I think it’s perfect, sweetheart. I bet Charlie’s happy that you want to learn.”

Charlie, who’d been watching Clint’s translation, ducked his head, but nodded a little too, and Maggie visibly puffed up a bit. “Yes please,” she said to Charlie, nodding and rubbing her right palm over her heart.

“What about you, Phil?” Clint asked. “What should we use for you?”

Phil didn’t really have time to be pleased that Clint had not only remembered his name, but that he wanted to give him his own sign, because Maggie fell on the idea immediately. “Yeah! What’s the sign for ‘daddy?’”

Clint laughed and put his thumb to his forehead, his open fingers sticking up in front of him. “That’s ‘dad,’ but I don’t think I should call your dad that, do you?” He shot Phil a smirk and Phil had to work harder than normal not to blush. “What does your dad like to do?”

Maggie thought really hard about that. “Play with me?” she suggested uncertainly.

“Yeah?” Clint said gamely. “I bet he does. What else does he like to do?”

She shrugged. “He reads a lot.”

“What does he read?”

“Daisy says it’s geek stuff.”

“History,” Phil cut in as Clint laughed, because he did not need her telling Clint about his Captain America collection. “I enjoy history. Particularly the World War II era.”

“That’s easy enough,” Clint assured him. “We’ll just make the sign for ‘history,’ but with a _p_ instead of an _h_.” He spread his middle and index fingers and placed his thumb between them, then pointed his middle finger down and tapped it on the back of his left fist.

Phil mimicked him, then asked, “And you? How do I sign your name?”

Clint turned his hands into _c_ ’s, then straightened both arms out in front of him before drawing one arm back, almost like shooting a bow and arrow. Which, as it turned out, was entirely accurate.

“Yeah, I like archery,” he said when Phil commented on the sign.

“Bit of a _Hunger Games_ , Hawkeye thing going on?” Phil asked with a laugh.

“You kidding? I liked it way before it was cool again, man. And don’t ever compare serious, competitive archers to Hawkeye,” he added with a glint in his eye. “That guy’s form is for sh— is awful. That guy’s form is awful.”

Charlie playfully shoved at his dad’s hip and Clint smiled down at him with a wink.

Before Phil could ask if Clint was a competitive archer and perhaps apologize for inadvertently insulting him, Miss Misty crossed the room to her rocking chair. Maggie noticed and grabbed Charlie’s hand, dragging him to the listening area, and Clint started to head that way. But then he stopped and took the two steps back to Phil.

“If you—” He stopped, then grinned sheepishly and tried again. “If Maggie really wants to learn, there’s a great center in Midtown. On 30th between Madison and Park. I don’t know if they have classes for kids that young, but they offer one-on-one tutoring. I mean,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s not cheap so maybe you won’t want to—”

“I’ll look into it,” Phil interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Clint’s smile flashed brightly for a moment, and then he was gone, taking his place at the front of the room, and waving as Miss Misty introduced him to the crowd one more time.

Maggie didn’t clap — she held up her hands and wiggled them instead. Phil wasn’t sure it was possible for a father to be more proud of his young child.

 

_________

 

  
Phil signed them both up for tutoring. As Clint had said, it wasn’t exactly cheap, but he made a lot of money in his cushy job, and he certainly didn’t mind spending it on something like this. He made special arrangements, even, to go twice a week instead of once. Maggie loved it, and he wanted her to learn quickly, before she lost interest or her fascination with Charlie waned.

That didn’t seem likely to happen though, because the Netflix homepage continued to get more crowded with sign language tutorials, as did Phil’s YouTube playlist. He set a Google alert for ASL, and screened everything that triggered it before passing some of them on to Maggie.

“Daddy!” she exclaimed one evening, staring at the TV, completely enraptured. “Daddy, Captain ‘Merica knows sign!”

Phil smiled and joined her on the couch. He’d had his own moment of delight earlier that afternoon, when the video of Captain America, in full uniform except for the cowl, signing to a scared young Queens boy had gone viral. “I see that, baby.”

“Is he helping him?”

“Yes, sweetheart. There was a fire, and Captain America helped get everyone to safety. The boy didn’t understand what the paramedics were saying, so Captain America stayed to help.”

Maggie nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”

Phil smothered his laugh in her hair and switched to the next video, which focused on teaching the signs for certain types of animals.

“Mr. Barton! Mr. Barton,” Maggie called, running across the library the next Saturday. “Did you know Captain ‘Merica knows _sign_?”

Clint laughed and got on his haunches, stopping her from crashing right into him. “I saw that,” he said, letting go of her shoulders to sign. “And use your library voice, please.”

“Sorry.” She rubbed her fist over her chest, and Clint beamed at her. “Does Charlie know?” she asked, signing “Charlie” with perfect form. It was her most practiced sign.

“He does. He’s over by the checkout desk if you want to go talk to him about it.”

She frowned and said, in all seriousness, “I don’t think I can. Me and Daddy have a teach-ter, but I’m not very good yet.”

“Tutor, baby girl. We have a tutor. And I think you’re doing a great job. It’s just going to take some time.”

“I _know_ that, Daddy,” she admonished, and Phil admired her self-assurance.

“It’s okay,” Clint told her, and turned her around to face the children’s checkout area. “See that pretty lady with Charlie? That’s his Auntie Nat. She’ll help you.”

She took off like a shot, tackle hugging Charlie while Phil watched Auntie Nat go from defensive to amused in the blink of an eye. She was, indeed, a very pretty woman, with bright red hair and full lips, and a figure Phil knew many women would kill for. He wondered if he should worry, or be disappointed that Clint hung out with people who looked like _that_ , but she turned to seek them out, and the onceover she gave Phil was just as calculating and assessing. She kicked up one corner of her mouth, then turned to the kids, greeting Maggie with a signed “hello.”

Phil heard Clint exhale with what sounded like relief, and he looked away from Charlie teaching Maggie’s name to his aunt. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied. “Of course. So you got yourself a teach-ter, did you?”

Phil smiled, feeling the skin around his eyes crinkle up. “We did,” he said, signing the words he knew. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Recommendation,” Clint said, showing him the sign. Phil copied him as Clint shook his head and continued. “No, seriously. You have no idea how amazing this is. There aren’t many kids who would do what she’s doing, and even fewer parents who would shell out that kind of money to encourage it. And you’re learning too. You’re just . . .” His hands hovered for a moment, before one reached back to rub over his neck. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Clint stared for a moment, and Phil shifted on his feet. Blinking, Clint took a step back. “So, I, uh. I need . . . Miss Misty. I’m supposed to talk to Miss Misty. I’ll see you later. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

Confused, Phil wound Maggie’s coat around his forearms for a minute, before heading to a table to set everything down. He shucked his own coat and added it to the pile, eyes wandering the room as he did so. He saw one group of kids, already sitting, signing at each other rapidly, and smiled. He then noticed a young girl near the front, with hearing aids nestled behind her ears, and he looked for Clint, pleased that the program seemed to be gaining ground.

“He does it for the other groups too,” a voice said from just behind and to the right of him, and Phil very nearly avoided jumping out of his skin. He turned to see Charlie’s Auntie Nat drawing abreast of him. “The preschool through kindergarten and the fourth and fifth graders.”

“I think it’s great,” he said, leaning back against the edge of the table. He watched as Maggie and Charlie picked their way across the floor and sat, then Nat crossed in front of him and hoisted herself onto the table. “He said he used to do it in Brooklyn?”

He saw her nod in his peripheral vision. “Took him a while to find someone to take his place. He could have moved months ago, but he didn’t want to leave the kids without an interpreter.”

“Why did he choose to leave Brooklyn at all?” Phil asked, hoping the answer had nothing to do with moving in with a boyfriend or girlfriend. Or, indeed, Auntie Nat.

“Work, mostly. And security. Our building now is far more secure than any walkup in Bed-Stuy.”

Phil’s heart fell a little. “Something every parent worries about, especially in this city.”

“Relax, Coulson. I live in the building, not in his apartment.”

He thought about protesting, but something told him she’d see right through it, and possibly respect him less for it. “Am I that transparent?”

She bobbed her head side to side, a little “eh” gesture. “To me, yes. Probably to most people, what with the sign language lessons and the ogling of Clint’s ass.”

“I do not—”

She shot him a look and he shut up. “But he won’t see it. Or, he won’t believe it. He’s pretty blind to things that are right in front of his face. So you’re going to have to just man up and ask him.”

“I don’t know,” he said, prevaricating. “I’m not sure he wants that.”

She snorted, an indelicate sound that made him smile. “I am. Trust me.”

“Trust someone who clearly knows my name, but whom I only know as Auntie Nat?” he asked, his grin widening as he watched Clint start to sign for the audience.

She slid off the table gracefully and put herself in his eye line. “You may call me Natasha,” she said, holding two _n_ signs out, wrists crossed as she wiggled them up and down slightly and moved them forward a couple inches. Phil didn’t get the chance to ask her the origin of the sign before she walked away.

When story time ended, he asked Clint out on a date, fumbling through what few signs he knew and fingerspelling the rest.

Clint signed back, “Yes.”

 

_________

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Clint said as the waiter walked away. “Who’s Daisy?”

Phil grinned. “My other daughter. Seventeen and a pain in my ass.”

“Aw, poor Phil. No respect, huh?”

Phil shook his head and took a sip of wine. “Actually, I think we probably have a better relationship than many fathers and daughters. I don’t know if that’s because of our beginning, or in spite of it.”

“Now that sounds like a story,” Clint said with a grin, and he leaned back in his seat, waiting.

“Oh, it definitely is. She’s a foster kid,” Phil said, launching into the tale with the technical term he would never use otherwise. He told Clint how he’d met her — about her attempt at hacking into Stark Industries at the age of eleven, about the group she’d fallen in with, and how he’d had to go to the police station and help the head of security file charges. He didn’t tell Clint about the motivations behind what she’d done, about The Rising Tide’s suspicions that Stark had been double-dealing his weapons, suspicions that had later been revealed as mostly true, just with the wrong culprit at the helm.

Phil wasn’t even supposed to know about the corruption, except Daisy had kept breaking out of the group home she’d been remanded to and then breaking into Phil’s apartment to try to convince him she and her friends were right. She’d done a decent enough job of it that Phil had started poking around some, and when everything at SI blew up and then calmed down again, Phil had been called to a very private meeting with Mr. Stark.

He’d been concerned about being sacked. Instead, Stark had been impressed with his attempts to dig up the truth — clumsy as they were — and had given him a promotion. “Pepper says you’re a wiz with numbers and forms,” Stark had said. “You seem a little rigid to me, but she likes you, and since she’s better at people than I am, I’m gonna take her word for it. Your employee record is spotless, except for the amateur attempts to access files above your clearance level, but I like the gumption.”

“Gumption?” Phil had said, eyebrows rising.

“Gumption,” Stark had confirmed, and that had been that. Phil had signed two non-disclosure agreements, one for SI and one for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, and had walked away with a raise and the title of Deputy Director of Finance.

He’d called Social Services the next day, and applied to become a foster parent.

“She kept coming back,” was all Phil said to Clint, however. “For some reason, she liked me. She’d break out of the group home and into mine, and eventually it just seemed easier to let her stay.”

“And you ended up with a Daisy.”

“A Skye, actually,” Phil said, and when Clint looked at him quizzically, he elaborated. “That’s the name she was going by then. There was no birth certificate for her, no records anywhere. The first orphanage she was in, they gave her the legal name of Mary Sue Poots.” Clint cringed and Phil laughed. “Exactly. For a while she wanted to be known as Skye. But now she’s managed to find information on her parents, and they’d named her Daisy. So Daisy it is. Of course, she’s still registered in the school system under Mary Sue, and oh, she hates that.”

Clint grinned. “Why not adopt and change her name?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. Her papers are a mess, though, and Social Services can’t quite figure out how to unravel them. Plus, she was actually born in China, which doesn’t make it any easier. I have been informed that the best thing to do would be to remain her foster parent until her eighteenth birthday, at which point she can legally choose to be adopted.”

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t settling for that?”

“It might be out of my hands. I’ve been trying this whole time, but she’s seventeen. That may very well be the solution that happens first.”

“True. What about Maggie?”

“Ah,” Phil said, sitting back with a smile as their appetizers were delivered. “That’s much less complicated.”

“Tab A, Slot B?”

“Got it in one. Thank you,” he said in an aside to the server. “Maggie’s mom, Audrey, had zero desire to be a mother. We had only been dating a few months when that little fact came out. We both knew it wasn’t going to work, especially as I was starting to . . . feel some paternal stirrings.”

“Daisy.”

Phil put a finger to his nose. “Audrey and I had one last, lovely night, called it quits, and a month later I got that dreaded call.”

“You loved it and you know it.”

“I really did. I had just started the process to take Daisy in, but eight months gave us plenty of time to settle in together before Maggie arrived. Audrey calls sometimes, and sends presents for birthdays and Christmases, but there’s no bond there. She’s a concert cellist, currently in Portland, though there’s talk of Vienna in the near future.” Phil helped himself to a stuffed mushroom and smiled across the table at Clint. “So, there we are, the three of us. A modern American family unit.”

“A happy one, from what I can tell,” Clint said, reaching over to snag the fork from Phil’s hand. He took the bite as Phil laughed, then handed it back.

“Good?”

“Delicious.”

Phil took his own first bite, and agreed with that assessment. “So tell me about Charlie.”

“I found him.”

“Found him?”

“Literally found him,” Clint confirmed. “I was on a job — I work as a security specialist, sort of — and we were taking down this group of . . . Well. Can’t really talk about that. Anyway, there was a toddler left behind.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. It was a real clandestine operation — sanctioned, mind you. I’m one of the good guys.”

Phil smiled. “Never doubted it.”

That seemed to give Clint pause, but he pushed through it. “So we couldn’t really take him to a local hospital or orphanage or whatever. By the time we got back to the States, I’d figured out that he couldn’t hear. I made a deal with my boss: I got to watch out for him while she tried to track down any relatives. She never found any, and no one seemed to be missing a kid in that area, so.”

“And you didn’t want to put him in the system,” Phil guessed, keeping his tone gentle and understanding.

“Fuck no. I was a system kid. I wasn’t doing that to him. Plus, he’s got two strikes against him, you know? He’s black and he’s not, quote-unquote, perfect. The odds of him going to a good home were super low.”

Phil reached across the table and covered Clint’s hand with his own. “He ended up in one anyway.”

Clint stared at Phil for a beat. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

Phil smiled, and rubbed his thumb over Clint’s warm skin. “Yes I can.”

“Yeah,” Clint said roughly, his hand turning over to clasp Phil’s. “You kind of can.”

 

_________

 

“Coulson.”

Phil fought the urge to stand, recognizing both the voice and the man standing in his office doorway. Stark wasn’t his boss anymore, and while common sense would dictate he still pander to the billionaire, past experience had proved otherwise. “Mr. Stark,” he replied, turning back to his computer screen and continuing to type. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You,” Stark said, pointing a finger at Coulson while he threw himself down in one of the leather chairs on the other side of the desk, “are the talk of the town, it would seem.”

“Am I?”

“Well, maybe not the town. The tower.”

Phil frowned in confusion, but didn’t stop working. Stark would explain himself eventually. He always did. Phil just hoped it wouldn’t take too long — he had to pick Maggie up from school soon and drop her off at daycare. He loved the private school he’d found for her, but he’d be glad when she hit first grade and started full days. Kindergarten half days were hell on a parent’s schedule.

“Okay. Maybe not even the tower. But I do have a colleague that is all a-twitter right now, because of you, big man.”

“So I’m the talk of one person?”

“Yes. Except not really, because he’s not even talking. He’s just smiling a lot and it’s really creepy. This is a man who has permanent resting murder face, and _you_ , Coulson, are making him smile. Stop it.”

Phil had a flash of worry that Stark was talking about Clint, until he realized that couldn’t possibly be true, because Clint actually smiled a lot. Also, he didn’t work with Stark.

He must just have Clint on the brain.

Phil finally stopped typing and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this because I recommended increasing the R&D budget next quarter? Mr. Stark, you must know that wasn’t exactly a difficult decision. All the signs point to it being the smart move.”

“R&D. Right.” Stark leaned forward and grabbed one of the picture frames off Phil’s desk. “This is the munchkin, right? And you still have the other one? The criminal mastermind? What’re their names again?”

“Daisy is my older daughter, and Maggie is the younger.”

“I thought it was something else. Slye or Skye or something like that.”

“It was. It’s Daisy now.”

“Huh.”

Through the open door, Phil heard the determined click of high-heeled shoes, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Tony,” Miss Potts said as she strode into view, stopping in the doorway. “Why are you bothering Phil?”

“Because I can. And why is he _Phil_?”

“Mr. Stark has, apparently, come to tell me that a previously stone-faced colleague of his in R&D is very happy that I’ve recommended increasing their budget.”

“Oh, is that what Mr. Stark has come to tell you?” she asked, tilting her head at the man in question.

“Yep,” Stark replied, leaning back until the chair was on two legs and craning his neck to look back at her. “R&D. Budget. Great news.”

“Yes, well. I don’t think your _colleague_ would want you bothering Phil about this. Budget recommendations need to play out by themselves, Tony.”

Clearly, Phil was missing a big chunk of whatever they were talking about, but he couldn’t bring himself to attempt to decipher it. He’d seen too many of their odd, double-meaning conversations to even care. “It’s only a recommendation, Mr. Stark. It still has to pass a lot of gauntlets.”

“That is not true,” Stark said, hauling himself to his feet. “You know that’s not true. You may not have the head title or the fancy office, but that’s just politics. There’s a reason you have the salary you have. You’re the guy, Coulson. When it comes to finances and accounting, you’re _the_ guy. What you say, goes, and everyone knows it.”

Phil said nothing. He was aware of the power of his say-so, but it wouldn’t do to acknowledge it. Also, he was a little surprised. He hadn’t realized the enormity of his paycheck was necessarily tied to that.

“Yes, indeedy,” Stark continued, stopping to look at Miss Potts as she turned to make room for him in the doorway. “My Pep knows how to pick ‘em.”

She gave Stark a tight smile and a sarcastic single flutter of the eyes. “Why don’t you go to lunch, Mr. Stark? I hear Bruce is in the kitchen today.”

“Hup, off I go then. If I don’t get there fast, birdbrain will eat all the naan. You coming?”

“I’ll be there soon.” He pecked her cheek, shoved the picture frame at her, and headed away, waving jauntily to George, Phil’s assistant, on the way out. “And save me some naan,” she called after him.

“Do my best!”

Finally, Phil stood. “Miss Potts.”

“Pepper.”

His lip twitched, but he shook his head. “You’re my boss. My _boss’s_ boss.”

“It’s been three years. We’re really going to have this argument every time?”

“For the foreseeable future, yes.”

She stepped further into the room, her eyes on the picture of Maggie. “How are the girls?”

“They’re great. Daisy’s busy with college applications, and Maggie’s learning sign language.”

“Sign language? At five?”

“She made a new friend.”

“Ah.” She handed the frame back to him, and he carefully placed it just so on his desk. “How about you, Phil. You make any new friends lately?”

“Quite possibly.”

Pepper smiled at him. “Good. Well, I should head out. I’ve got twenty minutes to eat before I have a meeting with some government folks.”

“And you do like your naan.”

“Bruce’s homemade Indian is to die for. Hopefully you’ll get to try it someday.”

He grinned and shook his head, knowing full well he’d never have access to Stark’s rotating cadre of personal chefs. Pepper would probably invite him in a heartbeat, if, as Stark had said, there weren’t office politics to contend with. She could hardly invite the deputy without ever having dined with the chief. “I highly doubt it.”

“You never know,” she teased. Then, with an enigmatic smile, she left.

 

_________

 

“Indian?” Phil asked. Pepper had given him a craving the day before, and he’d yet to satisfy it.

“God, no.”

“You don’t like Indian?”

“Actually, I do,” Clint replied, his voice warm and amused over the phone. “I just had it though. Ate a little too much.”

Phil laughed and wondered what Maggie would think of Indian food. He was going to have to bring it home for dinner and risk it, at this rate. “Italian? There’s a really nice place on Park.”

“Eh.” Phil could practically hear Clint’s nose wrinkle. “Look, Phil, I appreciate that you’re doing the whole wining and dining seduction bit, but I’m a simple guy. Make it too fancy and I’m liable to get awkward and weird.”

“Fair enough,” Phil allowed, sitting back in his office chair and letting it rock a bit. “Though, for the record, there has never been and there will never be a seduction attempt. It’s just us getting to know each other and seeing where it might take us.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” Clint teased. “So. No dimly lit, overpriced Italian tonight. Burgers?”

“Burgers sound great.”

“Good. I know a place not far from your office. Meet you in the lobby at five?”

“Better make it six,” Phil said, regretfully eyeing the stack of paperwork on his desk. “The end of the fiscal year is nigh.”

“Gotcha,” Clint said, smile audible in his voice. “Six it is. And, hey, Phil? I know you weren’t trying, but between the sign language and the whole competent, caring dad thing, consider me seduced.”

Phil didn’t know what to say to that, but he didn’t have to. Clint had hung up.

 

_________

 

“Hi.”

Clint turned, then paused, looking Phil up and down with openly hungry eyes. “Phil Coulson in a suit. I should have been prepared for this, but sadly I was not.”

Fighting, simultaneously, the urge to blush, the urge to duck his head, and the urge to throw himself at Clint, propriety in the workplace be damned, Phil instead managed a wry smile. “Funny, most people here think I live in suits.”

“Lucky them.”

“You ready to go?” he asked, bypassing the comment entirely and half turning towards the main doors.

Clint fell into step with him and steered him left out of the tower. “Daisy watching Maggie tonight?”

Phil shook his head. “No, she’s studying at a friend’s house. Maggie is happy as a clam at the company daycare. It’s pretty much round-the-clock,” he explained, “for employees with unusual schedules.”

“God bless the Stark perks.”

“Something like that. What about Charlie? He with Natasha?”

“Not tonight. My friend Steve got roped into babysitting duty.”

“I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience,” Phil said, kicking himself for the sudden impulse to ask Clint out last minute.

“Nah. Said he’d been planning a quiet night in, and that it would be just as easy with Charlie in tow. Kid entertains himself pretty easily.”

“Well, he does like to read.”

“And how,” Clint agreed. “But he’s also really good at getting lost in Legos and construction sets. Or playing with his cars. Even when he watches TV, it’s not like he has to have the sound on.”

“He’s not lonely, is he?” Phil asked.

“Oh, hell no,” Clint replied, laughing. “Trust me, he has plenty of people to play with. Steve will probably get right down on the floor with him and help him build. And heaven help us all if, um, the guy in the penthouse finds out they’re constructing something. The whole living room will be covered by the time I get home, and I’ll have to find and disable all the booby traps before I’m able to put Charlie to bed.”

“It’s good that you have friends in the area already. That can be the hardest part about moving, sometimes.”

“Yeah. But I was in this part of town a lot for work before, so I already had friends here. Charlie and I took our time deciding to move, and he got to know my friends and they got to know him while we considered it. Seems to be working out well so far.”

“Good. How much further is this place? I’m starting to miss my nose.”

“Just around the corner,” Clint assured. “And trust me, this is nothing. Try being staked out on a Siberian rooftop for four hours in the middle of the night. On Christmas Eve.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “Charlie must have missed you.”

“That was pre-Charlie. Jobs like that are a lot fewer and far between these days. I hold a slightly different title now.”

Phil nodded and let himself be steered around the corner and across the street. Clint held the door for him and followed him in, and they were instantly greeted and seated. Clint didn’t even glance at the menu, and the waitress who served them asked after Charlie with a smile.

“Come here a lot, do you?” Phil asked, amused.

Clint shrugged. “The apartment’s close. And Charlie loves the pancakes.”

“A good pancake is a thing of beauty,” Phil agreed, quietly impressed. Nowhere in Manhattan was cheap, but if Clint lived this close to Stark Tower, he must be commanding a hefty salary. Phil’s apartment was nice, and he might have been able to afford one closer to the office if he hadn’t needed three bedrooms (or if he’d been more willing to be house poor, which, no), but it had nothing on the real estate currently surrounding them.

But Phil knew better than to ask for more details on Clint’s job, so they passed the hours talking about other things, like kids and archery and the ridiculous cost of owning a car in the city. Phil heard a little about Clint’s unlikely circus career, a lot about how Natasha was Clint’s sister in all but name and blood, and that Charlie was named after an older brother — not the man Barney had become, but the boy he had once been. Clint, in turn, learned a little about Phil’s admiration for Captain America, that Maggie had been named for Peggy Carter — not because of her connection to the good captain, but because she was a strong, smart, independent woman in her own right — and that Phil dreamed of someday owning a classic Corvette.

“Maybe when I’m old and rich and don’t have to worry about kids and car seats or how I’m going to pay for a parking spot every month,” he bemoaned as they headed out. “But college is rearing its ugly head, and by the time that one’s done, it will be time to start saving for Maggie’s.”

“She’s a smart kid, maybe she’ll get a scholarship.”

Phil smiled. “Maybe,” he conceded, though he still doubted he’d ever spend the money necessary for a true classic car like he really wanted. “You don’t have to come back with me,” he added, surprised when Clint started walking back towards Stark Tower. “If home is close . . .”

“It’s not like the tower is all that far,” Clint argued. “And I want to say hi to the rugrat.”

“Okay.” Phil was unaccountably touched, a feeling that only grew as Clint accepted a hug and some sleepy signs from a worn-out Maggie, then hoisted her up, carrying her back outside and keeping her close while Phil tried hailing a cab.

“Can we drop you?” Phil asked as a car finally pulled over.

“Nah, it’s really close,” Clint said, handing Maggie off to him. “I’ll walk.”

He didn’t leave, though, staying close while Phil got Maggie settled in the backseat. When Phil stood up straight again, Clint was right there, hand gripping the top of the door, eyes guiltily snapping up from where Phil’s ass had just been on prominent display.

“Still not a seduction attempt,” Phil said, his voice teasing but low.

“I told you before.” Clint’s own voice was a little rough, a little husky. “You really don’t have to try.”

Phil stepped back up onto the sidewalk and grabbed Clint’s jacket, pulling him in for a kiss. It was not a repeat of the brief brush of lips from their first date, but a real kiss, deep and warm and electrifying, and despite the fact that it felt as though it went on forever, Phil was still left wanting more. If his daughter hadn’t been in the car . . .

But she was. Phil backed up and reluctantly let Clint go. “See you Saturday?”

“Saturday,” Clint said with a nod. He waited while Phil got in the cab, then closed the door and waved them off.

Phil gave the driver the address and pulled Maggie to him, and by the time they reached the end of the block and Phil looked back, Clint was gone.

 

_________

 

“Full house, huh?” Phil asked as he and Maggie trooped through the front door after a Friday tutoring session. “And a new face.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daisy said. “Phil, this is Mack. He and Fitz are working on that lab project together.”

“I’m just the muscle,” Mack said, standing up from his place on the couch to shake Phil’s hand. “Turbo here is in charge of all the hows and whys.”

“A surefire way to an A if ever there was one,” Phil said, surprised by the young man’s politeness. Even Jemma, the most well-mannered teenager he knew and who still called him “sir,” had only awkwardly waved at him when they’d first met two years ago. “Pleased to meet you, Mack. This is Maggie, Daisy’s sister.”

“Hi,” Maggie said and signed, eyeing him up. “You’re big.” Mack laughed delightedly and Maggie turned to Phil. “Dinner, Daddy?”

“Soon, baby.” He held out her mittens and hat, and his own scarf, and she took them, trooping off to dump them in the coat closet. “Is everyone staying for dinner?”

“Thank you, sir,” Jemma chirped up. “If we’re not an imposition.”

“Not if I order pizza,” he said, and got a resounding chorus of cheers for it. “What does everyone want?”

They haggled over toppings and Phil shucked his long coat and draped it over Maggie’s head as she came back, making her giggle. She staggered back to the closet and he followed, hanging both their coats up.

“Can we get two pizzas, Mr. Coulson?” Fitz asked.

“Of course. I doubt one would be enough.”

“Then we want one with pepperoni and mushrooms, and one supreme,” Daisy said. “With extra olives.”

She got shouted down at that, and Phil smiled, knowing she’d have a pizza with just olives and cheese, if she could. “I’ll put the order in.” He sent Maggie off to the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, tablet in hand.

“Is your sister deaf?” Mack asked, his voice quiet but still audible in the kitchen.

“No.” The tone of the single word made Phil pause as he reached for the faucet.

“Maggie has a friend who’s deaf,” Fitz said. “So she and Mr. Coulson are learning.”

“Please,” Daisy scoffed, “Phil is not learning for the kid.”

“That’s not fair,” Jemma said. “Your dad is exactly the kind of person who would learn for a friend of Maggie’s.” Phil smiled at her defense of him. Plus, his heart still skipped a beat whenever anyone called him Daisy’s dad, but especially when it was one of her friends. “No matter how attractive the parent of that friend is,” she added playfully, and Phil rolled his eyes in good humor.

Someone — Mack, he suspected — laughed, and Phil missed everything else as he finally turned on the tap to wash his hands. He deliberately tuned them out after that, sitting down to place an order with the pizza place a couple blocks down.

Before he could finish, Daisy huffed her way into the kitchen. He set the tablet down and gave her his full attention. “How was school?”

“Okay.” Then, begrudgingly, “How was the lesson?”

“It was good,” he said lightly. “It’s fun, and Maggie’s doing really well. You should come next time.”

“Why?”

Phil’s fingers twitched. “Because it never hurts to learn something new. And because, someday, I’d like you to meet Clint—”

“Who has hearing aids.”

“—And Charlie, who doesn’t,” Phil said smoothly, as though she hadn’t interrupted. “Please. Just think about it.”

“Why?” she asked, her body language telegraphing the rant that was about to follow. “Why is this such a big deal? You’ve been on, what? Four dates with this guy? Why are you acting like you’re gonna run off and marry him? You’ve known him for like a month. You _never_ date anyone longer than that. What makes this guy so special?”

Phil stood slowly, feigning calm and ignoring the obvious silence in the other room. “You have guests,” he said, moving back to the sink in an effort to hide his heartbreak. She’d never acted out like this. Not ever. Not with any of his previous relationships, not even when Maggie had come along. Why now? Now, when it felt so . . . Important. Possible. Promising.

“Phil,” she said, clearly uncertain.

His fingers curled around the edge of the sink. “We’ll discuss it later.” She hovered for a moment, and he closed his eyes. “Daisy, I love you. You are my daughter and I love you, but I need to feed six people and you have guests, and _we will discuss this later_.”

She went.

Phil released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and opened his eyes. He didn’t understand the sudden change in attitude. She’d been all smiles before, teasing him about the signing, about his crush. She’d even laughed at him as he’d nervously prepared for his first date with Clint. So what had changed?

Maggie wandered into the kitchen, dressed to the nines in her Captain America costume from Halloween, with ballet slippers on her feet and a tiara on her head. She climbed onto her booster seat and situated her crayons and paper just so, humming as she got to work.

“What are you drawing, sweetheart?”

“A picture for Charlie.”

“Yeah?” Phil asked, and it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t really heard any other names recently. “What about Alicia? Or maybe Tallie? Are you going to draw pictures for them too?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

And there, right there, was the problem. She’d latched on to Charlie incredibly quickly, and no one else would do. And Phil, he was starting to realize, had done the same with Clint. Clint was handsome and kind and a wonderful father, and Phil was somehow falling head over heels without really knowing much about him. “Security Specialist” covered a lot of different jobs, after all, and Clint didn’t talk a lot about his day to day life, or even very much about his past. For all intents and purposes, Phil didn’t know him at all.

But.

But it didn’t _feel_ that way. It didn’t feel that way at all. Phil might not know the ins and outs of Clint’s life, but he knew Clint. He knew there was a lot of pride there, mixed in with self-deprecation and even some genuine insecurities. He knew Clint cared about people, in both a personal way and in the broader abstract. He just . . . He knew Clint.

But he also was starting to understand how it looked to Daisy. Daisy, who loved him absolutely, who trusted him to take care of her, who had taken to the role of big sister with a fierceness born of someone who’d been alone for far too long. He would talk to her, sometimes, about moving too fast, too soon, about making sure she knew and trusted the people she surrounded herself with, terrified of that ingrained sense of loneliness taking over her natural common sense. And here he was, doing the exact thing he’d taught her not to do. He was rushing in, falling hard, and she was worried.

She’d been genuinely asking. Why Clint? Why, after only a handful of dates, was this one different from the others (what few there had been)? All Phil had heard was sarcasm, when he should have been hearing concern, and probably a small dose of fear.

Phil sat back down and added a pizza to the order. Small, extra cheese, extra olives, and nothing else.

When the order was delivered, she gave him a funny look as he handed the box directly to her, but opened it anyway. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I promise we really will talk about it later, okay? A real talk, not a lecture.”

She nodded and he kissed her forehead, then took the medium sausage and pepper to the kitchen for himself and Maggie.

Once Maggie was asleep and the small party had disbanded, Phil told Daisy to leave the soda cans and napkins still scattered around the room. “Come sit with me.”

She sat, picking up the remote control and turning it over and over in her hands. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“You didn’t yell,” he assured her. “You maybe could have used a better tone, but I should have heard what was really going on. Are you worried?”

She nodded miserably.

“About me?”

Another nod.

“And Maggie?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you don’t know Clint?”

“Because _you_ don’t know Clint,” she exclaimed, then immediately bit her lip and looked back down at the remote. “Sorry. I just . . . I don’t get it. You hardly know him. But you’re learning sign language and asking me to learn, and it feels like you really want him stick around.”

“And you’re wondering what happens if he doesn’t?”

She nodded again, and he sighed.

“Sweetheart, I can’t promise that this is all going to work out. I really hope it does, but a big part of having relationships is putting your heart out there. Not all the time, of course. Not with anyone and everyone who shows interest. But when it feels right. When it feels like the risk might be worth the possible heartache.”

“And this feels like that? Already?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It does. I know I preach caution and safety, but I’m an adult and you’re a teenager, and I’m sorry about the double standard, kiddo, I really am, but there it is. I might be wrong about Clint, and this might all come tumbling down around my ears, but if it does, I am better equipped to handle it at this stage in my life.”

“What about Maggie?”

“Well,” he said, considering. “If this all goes to hell in a handbasket, I would hope that Clint and I are both mature enough to not let it get in the way of Maggie’s friendship with Charlie. But, to be honest, he’s eight and she’s five, and I don’t know that he actually likes her so much as tolerates her, at this point. He may not _want_ to see her, independent of his dad and I getting together. She would be hurt and she would be sad, but kids are more resilient than you think, and she’d get over it. She’d meet more kids, make new friends.”

Daisy was silent for a moment. Then, “What about me?”

Phil’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. “What about you, sweetheart? Tell me what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t really know? But you’re my dad. You’re . . . You’re the only adult who ever stayed.”

Phil gently took the remote control from her and pulled her into a hug. “And I will keep staying. Honey, I’m not going anywhere, Clint or no Clint. You and Maggie are _the_ most important thing in my life.”

“Ugh, I _know_ that,” she huffed, but she didn’t pull out of the hug either. “But what if I like him? What if he’s as great as you say and he stays for, like, a year, but then you guys fight and he leaves? Or he meets me and—”

“Hey, no,” Phil said, not willing for a second to let her finish that thought. “Daisy, no. He is not going to leave because of you.”

“Not everyone’s like you, Phil. Most people don’t want to deal with other people’s kids. Especially when I’m not even really yours.”

“Excuse me?” He pulled back and held onto her shoulders. “Do we talk like that in this house? Since when are you not mine?”

“You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I do. And I have a secret for you. Charlie’s _adopted_ ,” he said as he leaned in, faking a scandalous tone. “Can you believe that? Taking in a child that isn’t even his? Who would do such a thing?”

“Really?” she asked, and she wasn’t playing at all. She need confirmation.

“Really. Maybe some people aren’t the best parents in the world, and maybe some are weird about the whole biological thing. Maybe even a lot of people. But Clint isn’t one of them. I can’t promise he won’t ever leave, but I _can_ promise that he won’t ever leave because of you. Okay?”

“Okay.” She tried a smile for him, and he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Maybe . . .” she said, carefully testing her words. “Maybe he could come over sometime. So I can meet him.”

“I bet he’d really like that.”

 

_________

 

Phil was possibly more nervous than he’d ever been in his life. He’d had a week to prepare for Clint’s arrival, but he hadn’t truly started to fret until the actual day. He’d cleaned the apartment, taken Maggie to the library for story time (constantly reminding himself not to jump Clint for a kiss or two), and then gone grocery shopping for dinner ingredients. By the time he’d gotten everything ready to start cooking, it was nearly five o’clock, Clint’s estimated arrival time.

It didn’t help that Daisy was curled up in the corner of the couch, pretending she was fine and not at all worried, and Maggie had been dancing around all afternoon, thrilled that her friend was coming to play, and continuously asking Phil to look up signs for words she wanted to use.

“Daddy, what’s the sign for ‘dragon?’”

“I don’t know, kiddo, I’m sorry. I’m a little busy right now. Can it wait?”

“But I want to tell Charlie about King Rex, how his mommy was a dragon and his daddy was a dinosaur.” Given that she was holding her favorite stuffed animal, and that the story of the creature’s parentage was oft heard by Phil, he was not surprised to hear the reason for her request.

“Come here, Mags,” Daisy called from the living room. “Bring the tablet, we’ll look it up.”

“‘Dinosaur’ too?” Maggie asked, after she’d snagged the StarkPad from the table and started for her sister. “And ‘mommy,’” she added after a moment. “I don’t know that one either.”

Phil sighed in relief, his heart clenching at Daisy finally showing even the slightest interest in sign language. She might have just been giving him a break, but he didn’t care. He’d take the moment in whatever way he could get it. Once the water was boiling happily and the meat was browning, Phil stepped away from the kitchen to sneakily snap a picture of his girls, both with their hands mid-sign, tablet propped up on the coffee table for reference.

They were still at it, learning words like ‘crayon’ and ‘drawing’ and ‘lasagna,’ when the doorbell rang and Maggie leapt from the couch, screeching, “Charlieeee!”

Phil quickly turned down one burner and moved to the front door, not wanting to put Daisy in the uncomfortable position of having to open it. She hadn’t, in fact, even moved from the couch. The tablet was in sleep mode and Daisy herself was in awkward turtle mode, and Phil sent her a reassuring smile before unlocking the door.

“Hi.” That was all Phil was able to say before Maggie pushed past his legs, waving at Charlie and clinging to him like a spider monkey.

Charlie looked up at his dad helplessly, but Clint only shrugged at him and greeted Phil with a small peck to the lips. “Sorry we’re a little late.”

“It’s fine. I got a late start on dinner too.”

“I thought you were going to let me help,” Clint said as Phil stepped back to let him in and Charlie tried patting Maggie on the head in an effort to get free.

“Oh, I am. It’s lasagna, so there’s still plenty of cooking left to do. Hey, Mags, let Charlie come in, okay?”

“Lasagna,” Clint said, showing Phil the sign.

“I know that one!” Maggie exclaimed. She executed a slow, careful version of the wavy gestures needed. “Me and Daisy looked it up.”

At that, Daisy finally got up off the couch, though she only took a couple steps in their direction. Phil grinned at her and led Clint and Charlie over. “This is Daisy,” he said, fingerspelling her name. “Daisy, this is Clint, and this is Charlie.”

“Hi,” she said, then sketched a small wave to Charlie.

“Hi,” Clint returned. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah. You too, I guess.”

Clint didn’t seem to take offense at the phrasing, smiling even as he translated everything for Charlie. “Your dad said you’re heading to a friend’s house later?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Jemma’s. But I’m supposed to be polite and hang out here for dinner and stuff.”

Clint looked like he wanted to laugh, even while Phil briefly thought about strangling his elder daughter. “Yes, you are. And that does not mean hiding in here while we’re in the kitchen,” he said as she started to go back to her seat. “Come help.”

“You’re sautéing. That doesn’t take three people.”

“Then you can sit and chat with us,” Phil said as he shepherded Charlie and Maggie towards the kitchen. “Practice that politeness thing you mentioned.”

She sulked as she trailed after them, but, when she sat, Phil gave her a tomato to dice, and she gamely got to work. The attitude disappeared quickly as they talked, confirming Phil’s suspicion that it had mostly been for show. It may have been affected to cover her nervousness, which also seemed to be fading under the onslaught of Clint’s crazy stories from the circus.

“That did not happen,” she cried after a particularly hilarious story about an elephant, some trapeze wire, and a clown car. The tomato was long gone, and she slapped her hand down onto the table with glee, which caused Charlie to startle and Maggie to glare. “Sorry,” Daisy offered.

Maggie immediately rubbed her tiny fist in circles over her chest. “Like this,” she instructed imperiously.

Daisy dutifully copied her and Charlie nodded. “Do you want to play Legos?” he signed to Maggie, who looked to Phil uncertainly at the fingerspelling.

“Legos, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” she said, then switched to signing. “Okay. My room.”

They abandoned their drawings and trotted off, and Clint smiled at Daisy. “I swear, it actually happened. And guess who had to clean it up?”

“Ewww. I’ll have to remember that story for Fitz.”

“He’d probably try to calculate the strength of the wire,” Phil mused.

“Who’s Fitz?”

“A friend. Kind of a genius,” Daisy said, with some pride in her voice, “but he’s still a stupid boy. He’d love that story.”

“As long as he didn’t have to live it,” Phil pointed out.

“True. He’s kind of fussy sometimes. Scottish,” she said to Clint, as though that explained Fitz perfectly.

Clint smiled. “Sexy accent and all?”

“Ew, no! I mean, yes,” Daisy said, laughing, “he’s got the accent, but sexy and Fitz just don’t go in the same sentence. Not for me, anyway.”

“Oh?” Phil asked, hearing the subtleties in her voice. “Who for then? Jemma, maybe?”

“Are you kidding? The only thing between Fitz and Jemma is the puppy crush he’s had on her since they were, like, ten, which he’s only desperately clinging to now so that he can self-deny that he wants to climb Mack like a tree.”

Clint laughed so hard he had to stop slicing the cucumber for the salad. “And does Mack want to be climbed?”

“I’m guessing yes. Repeatedly. Pretty sure he’d be Fitz’s treehouse, actually.”

Phil did his best to rein in his smile, pointing at them both. “You,” he said to Daisy. “Don’t talk like that. And you,” he added, switching to Clint. “Don’t encourage her.”

Clint held his hands up innocently and Daisy mimed zipping her lips with great exaggeration, and Phil suddenly realized how much trouble he might be in if they ever really teamed up on him. He narrowed his eyes in response, and Clint laughed as Daisy excused herself for the bathroom.

“She’s not totally wrong about the tree part,” Phil allowed, heading back to the sink. “You should see the kid — tall and built like a brick house. It’s not natural for someone his age.”

Clint hummed and suddenly he was there, warm and strong behind Phil, his hands on Phil’s hips. “Should I be worried?”

Phil pretended he was still able to breathe. “Of course not. He’s a _kid_.” He turned with a grin, and Clint didn’t step back. “And I don’t have a Scottish accent.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Wouldn’t want to lose you to the tree.”

Phil would have laughed, but Clint was kissing him. It was warm and so very welcome, and Phil found himself leaning into Clint and deepening the contact. Clint wrapped his arms around Phil and Phil dropped the lettuce into the sink and returned the gesture, feeling that broad, strong back beneath his fingers.

He had no idea how long they stood there, kissing the breath out of each other, except eventually he heard footsteps coming back, so the answer was _too long_.

Also, _not long enough_.

By the time Daisy stepped back into the kitchen, he’d pulled back a bit, though they hadn’t totally let go of each other either. “Whoa, okay. I can come back?” she offered, and Phil could _hear_ the face she was making, despite his eyes being locked on Clint’s, searching.

“It’s fine.”

“Yep,” Clint agreed. He kissed Phil one more time, quick and sweet, then dropped his hands and stepped back. “You can finish the cucumber while I check on the kids.”

“Second door on the left,” Phil told him, and Clint waved an acknowledgment over his shoulder.

Daisy sat and started slicing and Phil washed the lettuce in awkward silence. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to apologize or not. He didn’t feel as though he should, really, but it had gotten pretty intense, right there in the kitchen, with the kids at home. On the other hand, she hadn’t actually seen anything, and Phil was allowed to have adult relationships. But, he was a father first, and if something needed to be addressed, then he would just have to suck up and do it. “Daisy,” he started, but she cut him off.

“It’s okay.”

“Do you want to talk abou—”

“Really, really not.”

He nodded and concentrated on his task.

“I like him.” Her voice was quiet and tentative, but sincere, and Phil smiled down at his hands.

“I like him too.”

“Duh,” she said. Then, with affection, “Dork.”

“Brat.”

“Massive geek.”

“Insolent child.”

“Giant— Hi.”

Phil turned at the sudden cessation of mock hostilities, and saw Charlie standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking uncertain. “Hi,” he signed. “Need something?”

“Thirsty,” Charlie signed back. “Juice, please?”

“Sure. Apple, grape, or cran-grape?” He carefully spelled out the last option, unsure if there was even a sign for it.

Charlie chose apple and Phil set him up with a glass at the table, Daisy looking on. “You’re learning fast,” she said.

“Necessity,” Phil answered, translating everything for Charlie.

“What are you saying?” Daisy asked, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

“Just translating for him. So he can follow along.”

“Oh. I thought maybe . . .”

“Yeah. Now you know how he feels much of the time.”

She looked at Charlie and Charlie looked at her. “That sucks,” she told him.

Phil translated, but changed “sucks” to “must be difficult,” and Charlie shrugged. His hands flew as he signed at her, and Phil gave her a look. “He says it’s not so bad. He says he never had hearing, so he doesn't miss it. Also that he has a lot of friends who have learned sign, which helps.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, and Phil waited for more, hoping.

Nothing more came, however, and Charlie happily drank his juice and eventually Clint and Maggie wandered in. “I’m hungry, Daddy.”

“It’s almost ready, sweetheart. Did you wash your hands?”

She held them out as proof, proclaiming them, “Purfickly clean,” then climbed onto her booster seat as Daisy stood and started to set the table without being asked.

Dinner was a success, with lots of laughter and smiles, even with all the translations and language help flying over the table. Maggie diligently learned the words for “napkin” and “spill,” and Daisy finally got her own sign when Charlie made a face at having to fingerspell it for the fifth time. They decided on the sign for “computer,” but with a _d_ instead of a _c_ , and Daisy herself nodded in approval at the final result.

“I think that went well,” Phil said, eyeing the mess on the table as Maggie and Charlie ran back to their Legos and Daisy went to her room to get ready to leave.

“I’d say so,” Clint agreed cheerfully, then backed Phil against the counter for a quick kiss. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Phil kissed him in return, but didn’t let himself get lost in it. He pulled away after a minute and tossed a dishrag at Clint, who caught it easily. They cleaned in silence, working well in each other’s spaces, and Phil had just closed the dishwasher when Daisy reappeared with deliberately heavy footsteps and a bag over one shoulder.

“I decided I’m staying at Jemma’s tonight,” she declared, giving Phil a look full of significance. “I’ll be back at noon.” She turned on her heel and left, her phone out as she texted, her thumbs quick over the screen.

Phil watched her go in surprise, then turned to Clint. “I think that was her version of giving us her blessing.”

Clint grinned. “I’ll take that interpretation.”

“Not that you have to stay,” Phil explained, suddenly nervous Clint would get the wrong idea. Well. Not _wrong_ , exactly, but . . . “I mean, I do want that, but the kids are still here.”

“Yes,” Clint said, stepping in close. “The kids.”

“So we shouldn’t.”

“No. We shouldn’t.”

They did. Not right then and there, of course — that was limited to a few kisses and some very light groping. But after they’d finished cleaning up, and after they’d talked on the couch a while, and after they’d noticed a suspicious silence and had checked on the kids only to find them both fast asleep on Maggie’s bed, King Rex clutched tightly in Maggie’s hand and a stray toy car dangling from Charlie’s, _then_. Then they stumbled to Phil’s room and locked the door and kissed each other senseless. Then they undressed and touched and explored and tried their best to stay quiet as they fell into bed and moved together, as they whispered suggestions and encouragements, soft words and endearments, as they brought each other to climax.

By the time Daisy got home the next day, Clint and Charlie were long gone, and Phil was still smiling.

“Fine,” she said, clearly fighting a grin of her own. “Sign me up for your stupid lessons.”

 

_________

 

“Miss Potts.”

“ _Phil_ ,” she admonished, and he grinned. He missed the days she’d stop by on some errand for Tony, and the occasional lunches they’d shared. They’d been on more equal footing then, though, as executive assistant to the owner of the company, she’d always outranked him. But things were different now, and he doubted she was there to shoot the breeze. If nothing else, as CEO, her time was now much more valuable and precious.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, waving her to a seat.

“I thought perhaps we could go over your presentation? I know Burke’s going to have some concerns, and it would be nice if we could cut him off at the knees.”

Phil shook his head with a smile. “You do know you can overrule any concern he has, right? You are, as they say, the queen bee.”

“Well, yes,” she conceded, gracefully crossing her ankles. “But it’s more fun this way.”

He suspected it had less to do with fun and more with her general sense of fairness. If she had to swoop in and save Phil’s plan, then she’d get much of the credit when it succeeded. But if he had every contingency planned for ahead of time, her approval would be seen as simple common sense, and the credit for the plan itself would go to him. “I appreciate the concern, but I really do have it well in hand.”

“I know, but humor me. I’ve been hearing bluster and rumors coming from his office. I just want to be sure. And if there’s a chance to make him eat his own bravado in front of the board, all the better,” she added with a wicked grin.

“Now _that_ I can get on board with.” Phil pulled up his presentation and swiveled the screen so they could both see, and grabbed a copy of the research booklet he’d put together. “What have you been hearing?”

They were still neck deep in it, over thirty minutes later, when Phil’s phone rang with the distinct pattern of his assistant’s line. “Mr. Coulson,” George said when Phil answered. “My apologies to you and Miss Potts, but I have Nicole from Edwin and Anna’s on the line.”

Phil grimaced. He’d only dropped Maggie off an hour ago, and she’d seemed fine, so he hoped the call would be about something simple. Unfortunately, he was well aware that kids could be fine one minute and miserable the next. “Put her through, please.” There was a click, and he greeted the newcomer carefully. “Hello, Nicole. What can I do for you today?”

“Mr. Coulson, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid Maggie is sick.”

Phil put his elbow on the desk, fingers to his temple. “I don’t suppose it’s the type of sick that means she can stay there for a few more hours?” He realized immediately how callous that sounded, and apologized. “I have a very important meeting in about half an hour, and absolutely no backup plan in place today.”

“I understand,” Nicole said, and she sounded truly sympathetic. “But Maggie threw up, and policy dictates that she be picked up.”

“Of course,” Phil said, his mind racing. “I’ll be there shortly. Thank you, Nicole.”

“I am sorry, sir. We’ll see you soon.”

“Maggie?” Pepper asked, looking up from her phone.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to postpone the meeting?” he asked ruefully and not at all seriously, already knowing the answer.

“You know we can’t,” she said, not unkindly. She thumbed one more key, then slipped her phone back into her purse. “I’d say I could present for you, but that really isn’t a good idea.”

“No,” he agreed. It would spark all kinds of talk, from his future stability at the company to the very nature of their relationship. Plus, it would point to her bias towards his plan, and she couldn’t be seen to favor any one course of action over another. But he really didn’t know what else to do. Daisy was at school, of course, and everyone else would be at work.

His cell phone rang, and he answered it quickly, without sparing a glance at the screen. “Coulson.”

“Hey,” said a familiar and very welcome voice. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Clint. Hi. No. Well, yes, actually. I have a small crisis looming.”

“Anything I can do?”

Phil hesitated. Clint did live close by, and Phil trusted him implicitly. But could he ask that of him? Did he _want_ to ask that of him? He still didn’t know exactly where Clint lived, and Clint hadn’t seemed all that eager to volunteer the information, for whatever reason, and Phil didn’t want to intrude on his privacy.

“Phil?”

“I . . . Maggie’s sick. She can’t stay at daycare and I have a big presentation in half an hour. I can’t reschedule and I can’t miss it, and I’m a bit stuck, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll take her,” Clint said immediately.

“Clint,” Phil hedged, trying to be polite and not jump on the offer.

“What? I live close. Super close. I’m not doing anything, and I have all the Pedialyte and Children’s Tylenol a dad could possibly need.”

“Solution?” Pepper asked in a whisper, leaning close.

“Possibly,” Phil replied. Then, to Clint, he asked, “How long would it take you to get here?”

“Two minutes.”

Phil snorted. “You can’t get through _security_ in two minutes.”

“Uh, yeah. About that.” Clint said, and at the same time Pepper grinned at him and stood up, making _Leaving now, see you later_ gestures. 

Phil waved at her distractedly, already packing up everything he needed for the presentation, just to be safe. “About what?” he said into his phone.

“I’m already through security?”

Surprised, Phil pulled his hand back from his briefcase, and it fell closed with a muffled thump. “What? You . . . Are you telling me you _work_ here? You’re a security specialist for _Stark_?”

“Um. Not exactly?”

“Clint,” Phil said, in his best warning tone.

“I live here.”

“Here. As in the tower?”

“Yes.”

“Stark Tower?” Phil asked, needing to double check. “Otherwise known as Avengers Tower?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“People don’t live in Avengers Tower.” Phil was well aware he wasn’t making much sense, but, in his defense, the conclusion his thought process was bringing him to didn’t make any sense at all. “ _Avengers_ live in Avengers Tower.”

“Hey, now, that’s not true. We got some support staff who live here. Not to mention girlfriends and boyfriends and families and stuff.”

“Clint? Are you telling me you are a boyfriend, family member, or general staff member to an Avenger?”

“No.” He took an audible breath. “No, I am not.”

This time, Phil put both elbows on the desk, needing the support as everything coalesced in his brain. “Hawkeye,” he said wearily. “You’re Hawkeye.”

“Yeah.” At least Clint had the decency to sound kind of sheepish about it. “Do you still want my help, or . . . ?”

Phil closed his eyes for a moment. Did this change anything? He didn’t know. It was a rather large piece of information to digest, and, at the moment, he didn’t have the time to really sit with it. 

But, somehow, he felt like maybe it didn’t change much at all.

“Yes,” he said eventually, and pretended not to hear the breath of relief Clint released. “Please come. You know where my office is?”

“I can find it.”

“I’ll get Maggie and meet you there. But Clint?” Phil said, setting his computer to sleep and standing up. “I am going to want to talk about this later.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I get that.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up, and by the time Phil returned with Maggie sacked out against his shoulder, Clint was waiting, leaning against Phil’s desk, much to George’s consternation. Phil didn’t have much time left, so he handed her over with a kiss to her warm forehead, and tried not to be too affected by the sight of Clint gently shifting her in his arms.

“I’ll come as soon as I can,” Phil said. “I assume there’s a private elevator?”

Clint nodded. “The one by Pepper’s office would be closest, if you’re coming from here.”

“Of course,” Phil grumbled, because _of course_ Pepper knew. Had known all along. Clint was, after all, a certain _colleague_ of Stark’s. Phil was starting to feel pretty foolish.

“Hey,” Clint said softly, and waited until Phil met his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Phil gusted out a breath. “Yeah. I just can’t do this right now, okay? I do have to get going.”

“Sure.” Clint leaned in just an inch, then aborted the motion suddenly. “Sorry. Yeah. Okay. See you in a few hours.”

When he turned to go, Phil impulsively caught his elbow and turned him back. He kissed Clint softly, lingering for just a moment. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing or what he would do once he’d had time to process the new information, but he knew he still wanted to kiss Clint. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t ever stop wanting that. “I’ll see you soon.”

Clint’s smile was still tinged with uncertainty, but he nodded and left, rubbing soothing circles over Maggie’s back as he walked, his lips moving against her hair as he murmured to her.

Phil did his best to put that out of his mind as he grabbed his briefcase and double checked that he had everything he needed. By the time he reached the conference room, Clint and Maggie and Hawkeye and Stark and Pepper and the Avengers were boxed up and compartmentalized in his mental filing cabinet. He had a job to do.

 

_________

 

He’d done his job well. The board was looking favorably on his plan, and Pepper’s subtle support would sway it, he knew. He shook hands and fielded questions and comments as everyone filed out, and when the boss herself finally stood and approached him, he leveled a finger in her direction. “You.”

She looked at him sympathetically. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“It’s not that,” he admitted, his shoulders falling a bit as he crossed his arms. “I actually do understand why I wasn’t told, by him or you or anyone else. I just . . . I don’t know what to do with this information. I have concerns, obviously. The girls’ safety, for one.”

“And your ability to be left waiting when they go out,” she said, and he realized she _would_ know. Of course she would know, “dreading the day he doesn’t come back.”

“Yes.” Could he be the one to wait for Clint to come home, fearing bad news with every passing hour? Could he handle that?

Pepper must have sensed the direction of his thoughts, because she put a gentle hand on his arm and said, “Talk to him. Ask him questions. Then come talk to me. Clint and Tony, and the others, they try to understand what it’s like, but the truth is they don’t know. They _can’t_ know. I’ll do my best to help. Just . . . He’s so happy, Phil. Please don’t make a decision that will break his heart without having all the information first.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” She gave him a smile, checked her watch, and patted his arm. “It’s four o’clock; work will still be here tomorrow. Go take care of your daughter.”

“And talk to Clint?” he asked.

“If you must.” She walked off with a devious grin, and he sighed and began collecting his things.

He had no idea what to do. He _was_ worried. For the safety of his daughters, for the strength of his heart. How did Clint even do it? How did he go out there and put his life on the line with Charlie waiting for him at home? How was Phil supposed to handle it if something did happen? And should he even be worrying about that yet? Their relationship was still new, and this added a whole new level of complication to it. They might not even make it that long. Not to mention Clint was _Hawkeye_. He could probably chuck Phil and have some hot young thing in his bed in the space of an hour.

Except that wasn’t fair. Phil knew that wasn’t fair. Clint had given no signs of wanting anything like that. Of wanting anyone but Phil. In fact, he seemed nervous that it would be Phil who would do the dumping, when, in reality, Phil had absolutely zero intention of doing any such thing.

The truth of that simple thought stopped Phil short. He had no intention of dumping Clint. _None_. Whatever concerns he had, they would discuss. Clint probably had solutions for most of them, or at least suggestions. Everything else, well. They’d figure it out as they went along.

Phil snapped his briefcase shut and called George as he walked, telling him he’d be out of the office and unreachable for the remainder of the day. Once he reached Pepper’s floor, however, he realized he didn’t really know where he was going. He approached her glass-walled office slowly, looking for the elevator, but even once he found it, he wouldn’t know what floor to go to, or even if he’d have to deal with any extra security once he got there.

His phone trilled at him and he took it out of his pocket, reading the text message there.

 _The panel to your left_ , it said, and he looked up to find Pepper smiling at him from her desk. She pointed and he looked, seeing what he had always assumed to be wall art.

 _What floor?_ he texted back.

_Just get in. Jarvis will take care of the rest._

The door to his left slid open smoothly, and Phil did his best not to react. He assumed some sort of elevator operator — the mysterious Jarvis, perhaps — but when he boarded and saw the car to be empty, he immediately realized his mistake. This was a building of Stark’s, after all. It had to be some kind of sophisticated computer program that slid the panel shut again and started the elevator on its upward trajectory.

When it stopped and let him out, Phil found himself in an elegant but sparsely decorated foyer, with only two doors to choose from. As he debated which to knock on, the one on his left opened, depositing Natasha, dressed in a black catsuit with guns prominently strapped to her waist and thigh, into the foyer.

“Coulson,” she said as she slipped past him and into the elevator.

Phil stared after her, a sudden understanding of the sign behind her name dawning. “Natasha,” he replied belatedly, his hands moving with her sign as the door started to slide closed.

She gave him a small, knowing smirk, and then she was gone.

“She and Steve have a job,” Clint said from behind him, and Phil whirled around. Clint was leaning in the other doorway, now open, and trying to look casual but not doing a very good job of it.

“They don’t need you?”

Clint shrugged. “There aren’t very many situations that call for the strength of the whole team. Most of what we do is smaller scale, and slightly more subtle than a full assault.” Phil started towards him and Clint eyed him nervously. “Sorry you won’t get to meet Cap.”

Only then did Phil even comprehend that they were talking about _Captain America_. Captain America, the myth of whom had served as Phil’s childhood hero, the man whose true history had fascinated Phil as a teen and young adult, and the superhero that had reappeared well into Phil’s adulthood, seemingly just as noble and righteous as Phil had always believed him to be.

But, “I’m not here to meet Captain Rogers,” Phil said, because it was the truth and because even though he was trying to be reassuring, he couldn’t possibly consider calling the super soldier by his first name.

“Right.” Clint didn’t appear to be very comforted as he pushed off the doorjamb and moved back, waving Phil in. “She’s on the couch.”

Phil stepped inside and looked around for a moment, admiring the simple hominess of the decor, the longbow hanging on one wall, and the massive television on another. On screen, Bert and Ernie were exchanging Christmas gifts, a scene Phil was very familiar with. “I thought you said you didn’t have it,” he said with a gesture at the holiday special.

“Jarvis can find anything,” Clint said, and Phil wanted again to ask exactly who Jarvis was, but he had other priorities. Subtitles were flashing at the bottom of the TV, and Phil rounded the couch to see Charlie watching avidly, with Maggie asleep next to him, her head butting up against his thigh.

Charlie spared him a glance and a greeting, and Phil signed back, but the boy’s attention quickly returned to the screen. “Too old for it, huh?” Phil asked, heading back to Clint’s side.

Clint grinned. “Maybe not so much.” His smile died as he looked Phil over, however, and he hesitated before adding, “Did you want to take her home?”

“Clint.” Phil stepped in and slid his hand down Clint’s arm until he could entwine their fingers. “I’m not just here for Maggie either.”

“No?” Clint’s voice was rough and his eyes suddenly sparked with hope.

Phil shook his head with a small smile and maneuvered Clint up against the console table along the wall behind him. He angled himself into Clint’s space, his hands on Clint’s hips and one leg between Clint’s strong thighs, and leaned in. “Really, really not,” he said, borrowing the phrase from Daisy. Then he closed the distance and kissed Clint carefully, thoroughly, putting every ounce of trust he could into it.

Strong fingers gripped Phil’s shoulder for a moment, then slid up and over, cradling the back of his head instead. “Yeah?” Clint asked when they finally stopped to breathe.

“Yeah.” Phil ran his hands up Clint’s ribs and chest, and stroked over his shoulders. “I want this to work. I have questions and I have concerns, and it might not be easy sometimes, but I really want to give this a shot. Okay?”

Clint swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing even as he nodded. “Yes. Okay. Very, very okay.”

 

_________

 

_Have to cancel today. Got a job. Sorry._

Phil’s grip tightened around his phone. This was a day he’d been dreading for the past week and a half, and he wasn’t prepared for it at all. But he didn’t want Clint worrying about him when he had much more immediate things to focus on, so took a deep breath and replied, _I understand. Go kick some ass and don’t forget to come home._

His phone rang before he’d even put it down. “How could I,” Clint asked when Phil answered, “with you waiting for me?”

Phil tried not to grin like an idiot. “Does Charlie still want to come over?” he asked, switching topics.

“That’d be great. It will keep him distracted while I’m gone. It’s just for the day,” Clint added before Phil could even ask. “We expect to be back sometime this evening.”

“What about story time? You’ll miss it.”

“They’ve got a couple volunteers they can call now. It’s the best I can do.” A sudden noise kicked up in the background, and Clint swore. “I gotta go. Nat’s with me, but our friend Jane will take Charlie to the library. Can you just take him home with you from there?”

“Of course.”

“Great. I’ll see you tonight.”

Phil wanted to beg a promise out of him, but he knew better. “See you tonight.”

The call disconnected, and Phil sent a private plea to wherever Clint was. _Please be safe. Please come home._

“But, Daddy,” Maggie protested when he told her of the change in plans. “Who will sign for Miss Misty?”

“Clint said the library has lots of volunteers, sweetheart. I’m sure someone will be able to come.” He wasn’t comfortable enough yet to do it himself. He knew he wasn’t as fast or as fluid in his signing as a good translator would be, and heaven forbid a word came up that he didn’t know.

Maggie was not consoled, however, fretting all the way to the library, worrying about all those kids who might not have an interpreter, asking him over and over if someone would be there, and why couldn’t Clint just be there, that was his _job_ , and pouting when Phil patiently explained that it wasn’t, actually, Clint’s job, that he had a real job that sometimes meant he’d have to miss story time.

“Why?” she asked as they climbed the stairs.

“Because his job sometimes needs him unexpectedly, and he has to cancel everything else to go help,” Phil said, wishing he could change the subject. He really didn’t want to be talking about Clint’s absence, or Clint’s job.

“Can’t other people help?”

“Sometimes they do. But this time it was Clint’s turn.”

“But what’s Charlie going to do if no one comes to sign for story time?”

Phil sighed and tried to be proud of how concerned she was for Charlie and the other hearing impaired kids. It was sweet, and very thoughtful, and he sincerely hoped her fears were unfounded.

They weren’t. 

“Daddy!”

“I know. I know, Mags.” They’d had someone for the younger group, but she hadn’t been able to stay, and they had someone for the older kids, but he couldn’t come early. Miss Misty was still trying, asking parents and chaperones, but, so far, she was coming up empty.

Charlie arrived then, with a tiny brunette woman on his heels. Maggie waved and signed hello, and Charlie took the woman’s hand and steered her in the right direction. She smiled as they approached, eyes bright. “Are you Mr. Coulson?”

“I am,” he said, signing for Charlie. “But, please, call me Phil, Miss . . . ?”

“Foster. Doctor, actually. But Jane will do.” She shook his hand and looked over her shoulder. “Thanks for taking Charlie.”

“Thanks for bringing him,” he countered.

“I have some research to do here. It’s no trouble.”

“Is it something you have to do right away?” Phil asked, afraid he already knew the answer, going by her semi-distracted state. “They’re down an interpreter, and I’m not good enough yet to attempt it myself.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and only then started signing as she spoke. Her fluidity was even worse than Phil’s, if possible. “I’m still learning too. I’m nowhere near as good at it as the others are yet. I don’t always live with the, uh, family.”

Phil nodded. “Well, I’m sure they’ll figure something out.”

“Daddy!” Phil tried to hush her gently, but she only got more upset. “But Miss Misty is gonna read Winnie- _ther_ -Pooh! Everybody loves Winnie- _ther_ -Pooh! They’re all gonna miss it!”

“I am sorry, Maggie,” Jane said, looking a bit helpless.

“Not your fault,” Phil assured her. “I’ll handle it.”

Jane, visibly relieved, left, and Maggie’s lip started to quiver, so Phil knelt to settle her down and take her coat off at the same time. He was successful with the winter wear and almost successful at calming her anxiety, but then Miss Misty stood in front of her rocking chair and greeted everyone, explaining the situation, and Maggie started sniffling. “Winnie- _ther_ -Pooh,” she said, sounding truly heartbroken.

“Honey, it will be okay,” Phil said, and wondered how much of her despair was, in fact, for the other kids and how much was for herself. She loved the classic Milne tales, and he could only imagine her disappointment not to see one in sign. “Maybe Miss Misty and Clint will do another Winnie-the-Pooh next week.”

“ _Ther_ -Pooh, Daddy,” she corrected him, unwilling, even in her grief, to let him get away with not using Pooh’s “correct” name.

“Yes, you’re right. _Ther_ -Pooh. Do you want to take your seat?”

She sniffled and nodded, then asked in a watery voice, “What’s Charlie doing?”

Phil looked to where Charlie had been, only to not find him there. A brief spike of panic hit, but he followed Maggie’s gaze and found him easily — he was stepping up onto the small platform, and when he reached Miss Misty, he pointed at her book then at himself. Then he moved to stand at the side of her chair, and gestured with two fingers to his eyes, and then to the book again. She smiled, tentative, and he imperiously pointed at her to sit. She did, and held the book so they could both see it, and he nodded decisively.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have a solution,” she announced, and spontaneous applause, both audible and silent, broke out. “Thank you, Charlie,” she said, signing her thanks.

Charlie nodded and looked at Phil, who also thanked him, then smiled at Maggie, who ran to take her seat. Phil pulled out his phone, moved to a better vantage point, and when Miss Misty began to read and Charlie began to sign, Phil began to record.

Terrified of interrupting Clint at a crucial time — because even though he was sure Clint would either not have his phone or have it set on Do Not Disturb, he could not shake the fear that he might distract him and get him hurt — Phil didn’t send the video until Clint himself texted first.

_Heading home. All is well. ETA 2230._

_Good. You were missed today._ Phil attached the video, sent the message, then watched it again himself, ignoring Daisy’s teasing.

He didn’t get an answer from Clint, but an unknown number texted him twenty minutes later. _Don’t send him any more high fructose schlock, Coulson. He’s smiling again. It’s unnerving._

Phil immediately took a picture of Maggie and Charlie brushing their teeth side by side, and sent it to both Clint and Stark. One text he received in return was, _You’re fired_ , while the other read, _Fuck it. New ETA 2200._

Clint arrived at nine-fifty. He was dirty and tired obviously sore, and he was _beautiful_. Phil grabbed him and kissed him, and Clint turned the tables on him by pushing him against the doorframe and crowding in close, kissing him senseless.

“The kids?” he asked, his lips still brushing against Phil’s.

“Maggie and Charlie are sound asleep. Daisy is—”

“Daisy is going to her room,” Daisy said, her voice traveling as she moved from the couch towards the hallway, “to listen to music. Loud music. With headphones.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” Clint called while Phil dropped his head to Clint’s shoulder and tried not to laugh.

“You can make me pancakes in the morning. Chocolate chip pancakes.”

“You got it.” Clint had barely finished his sentence before he was coaxing Phil’s head up by trailing kisses along his jaw and nuzzling, and then stealing his breath with a deep kiss to his lips.

“Neighbors,” Phil managed to whisper, and promptly found himself being manhandled inside, the door slamming shut behind them. He pressed himself against Clint as they kissed, only to suddenly realize that Clint was more . . . rigid against his torso than he normally was. “What is this?” he asked, reaching to unzip the old hoodie Clint had on.

What he found surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. Now that he was looking, he could see Clint was wearing tactical pants and combat boots, so his famous Hawkeye tac vest should have been expected. Hurriedly, Phil pulled the hoodie off completely, and absolutely did not groan at the sight of Clint in his uniform, strong, bare arms on full display.

“I came straight here,” Clint said in explanation.

“Good.”

“Wanted . . .”

“Yes.”

They crashed together in a fierce kiss, only stopping to make their way to the bedroom, where Clint convinced Phil to let him take a quick shower, and Phil convinced Clint to let him join him. It was probably a lot less quick that way, but much more enjoyable and, after, Phil was able to lay Clint on the bed and kiss any and every patch of skin that struck his fancy, from Clint’s bruised ankle all the way to the skin just below a stitched gash at his hairline.

He took his time, tasting, teasing, savoring, and by the time he slid one lube-covered finger inside Clint, they were both desperate and needful. Clint was a sight, his body tense with pleasure and excitement, his head pressed back, the corded muscles in his neck straining as Phil carefully added a second finger. Clint’s hands had been clenching the sheets, but when Phil found his prostate, one of Clint’s hands grabbed Phil’s shoulder instead, while the other shot up to grip the top of the headboard. Phil smiled and brushed over that magical spot again, and Clint’s bicep flexed and his whole stomach clenched, and a groan escaped his throat.

“You’re a tease,” Clint said, once he’d caught his breath.

“It’s only teasing if you don’t follow through,” Phil told him.

“Anytime then,” Clint encouraged, his feet shifting restlessly on the bed. “Seriously.”

Phil hummed and spent a little more time and lube making absolutely sure, then rolled on a condom and kissed his way up Clint’s body. He settled in with a soft, affectionate, “Hi,” and Clint smiled at him and let go of the headboard to wrap his arms around Phil instead.

“Hi yourself.” He shifted and Phil took the hint, reaching down to position himself before slowly pushing his way in. Clint gasped and Phil leaned down to swallow that breath, to kiss every sound and word out of that gorgeous mouth. “Phil.”

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

They moved in sync, their relative inexperience with each other unimportant. Phil kept to slow, measured strokes, enjoying the sensations too much to speed up. Clint didn’t seem to mind, and when Phil reached down to hitch Clint’s leg up and then slid back inside, Clint’s hand flew up again, unerringly going back to the headboard as he cried out.

“Shh,” Phil said, not so much to quiet, but to soothe.

“It’s good,” Clint babbled. “Phil, babe, ‘s so good.”

“Yeah.” Phil couldn’t say much more than that. He didn’t have the words to even try, so he pulled out a bit and then thrust back in, a little harder, a little faster than before. Clint whimpered and Phil kissed him again, then kept going, driven by every small, delicious noise Clint made in response.

Eventually they needed to breathe, and Phil’s mouth hovered just over Clint’s as he sped up even more. He trailed his hand up Clint’s arm, finding his fingers and gently coaxing them loose, until Clint turned his wrist and grabbed Phil’s hand instead, their fingers laced as they held tight to each other. The fingers of Clint’s other hand dug into Phil’s back, flexing mightily as he shouted and came, arching underneath Phil and tightening around him.

Phil waited, admiring the beauty of the man beneath him, but when Clint hoarsely whispered Phil’s name as he relaxed against the mattress, Phil’s instincts took control. He thrust once more, and again, then collapsed over Clint, his hips stuttering forward as his body emptied itself into the condom, trying to leave its mark deep inside Clint, spilling until it had nothing left to give. 

He could barely breathe when it was over, and he stayed where he was, blanketing Clint, his head pillowed on a strong shoulder and one hand still loosely holding Clint’s. He hummed when Clint turned his head to kiss him, and though he wasn’t totally with it, he managed to kiss him back. Sleepy and content, Phil nuzzled into Clint and murmured, “I love you.”

The second the words slipped out of his mouth, Phil sobered up. He opened his eyes and levered himself up to look at Clint, who seemed a little shocked, but happy. His eyes sparkled as he smirked at Phil. “Really, Phil? After sex? So cliché.”

“Shut up,” Phil grumbled, lowering himself back down, snuggling in as Clint’s fingers began to play with his. 

“The thing is,” Clint said quietly, and Phil kept his eyes open and his body still, waiting. “I’m not so good at saying things sometimes. Especially things like that.”

“It’s okay, Clint. You don’t have to—”

“But I . . .” Clint sighed and jostled Phil gently. “Up.”

Phil did as he was told, securing the condom as he moved away, then taking it off and tying it up before getting up to throw it in the trash. When he came back, Clint was sitting up against the pillows, waiting. He pointed at Phil and Phil stopped, hesitating by the side of the bed.

Then Clint’s hand moved. He extended his pinky finger and his thumb along with his index finger, leaving only his middle two fingers curled in, and he bent his wrist up and pushed the whole sign towards Phil.

Heart soaring, Phil crawled back onto the bed and gently took Clint’s wrist, kissing each of the exposed fingertips with care. “Works for me,” he said, then pulled Clint in for a deep, slow kiss, their fingers shifting and slotting into place one more time.

 

_________

 

The next Saturday, when Phil and Maggie arrived late to the library due to a subway snarl, Miss Misty was, in fact, reading more Winnie- _ther_ -Pooh. Clint was back, standing on the dais and signing beautifully, and he grinned when they rushed in, nodding Maggie in Charlie’s direction. 

The floor was packed, with a good percentage of the kids watching Clint’s hands with rapt attention, but Charlie had managed to keep a space clear next to him. Unfortunately, there was a bigger kid sitting right in front of it, and Maggie spent a few minutes leaning and twisting and huffing, trying to see both Clint’s hands and the pictures Miss Misty showed with every page. When she sat up on her knees, clearly annoyed, Charlie reached over and hauled her into his lap, where she settled happily, his arms around her small body, holding her securely.

Phil practically melted, and he looked to the front of the room, where Clint seemed to be similarly affected. Their eyes met, and Phil shifted his hand into their favorite sign, just to see Clint’s smile grow even brighter.

 

 

 

—the end—

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took on a life of its own. I think it may be the longest single fic I’ve written in this fandom, and I had to cut a lot of scenes and subplots to make it manageable. Which is why it will be a series, though it takes me forever to write things, so please don’t anxiously wait. Subscribe, if you'd like, and it will pop up when it pops up.
> 
> There is, in fact, an ASL school in Manhattan on 30th between Park and Madison, and they do offer tutoring. [The Sign Language Center.](http://www.signlanguagecenter.com/index.php)
> 
>  **List of Signs:**  
> [The alphabet](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-layout/handshapes.htm)  
> [Applause](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/a/applause.htm)  
> [Hello](https://www.signingsavvy.com/sign/HELLO/4943/1)  
> [Friend](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/f/friend.htm)  
> [Please](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/p/please.htm)  
> [Thank you](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/t/thankyou.htm)  
> [Archery](http://www.signasl.org/sign/archery)  
> [Car or Drive](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/c/car.htm)  
> [Learn](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/l/learn.htm)  
> [History](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/h/history.htm)  
> [Lasagna](http://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1229)  
> [Computer](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/c/computer.htm)  
> [Sorry](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/s/sorry.htm)  
> [Spider](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/s/spider.htm)  
>  And, of course, [I love you.](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/topics/i_love_you.htm)
> 
> For those of you who are curious about the way Maggie says Winnie-the-Pooh’s name, I give you this excerpt from the original [Winnie-the-Pooh](https://www.acc.umu.se/~coppelia/pooh/stories/ch1.html), by A.A. Milne:
> 
>  _When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, "But I thought he was a boy?"_  
>     
>  _"So did I," said Christopher Robin._
> 
>  
> 
> _"Then you can't call him Winnie?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"I don't."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"But you said--"_
> 
>  
> 
>  _"He's Winnie-_ ther _-Pooh. Don't you know what_ 'ther' _means?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Ah, yes, now I do," I said quickly; and I hope you do too, because it is all the explanation you are going to get._
> 
>  
> 
> (As a side note, the way Maggie proclaims her hands to be “purfickly clean” is also from Milne, in his poem [Before Tea.](http://www.alphabino.com/blogs/blog/13876781-before-tea-a-a-milne))


End file.
